


In This Bed

by Shayheyred



Category: due South
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2011-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:39:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shayheyred/pseuds/Shayheyred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben wonders sometimes how he has come to this place, this bed</p>
            </blockquote>





	In This Bed

Lips.

Lips, teeth.

Grazing, nipping.

Sucking. Licking.

Hot wet tongues.

Sliding, stroking, marking, burning.

Skin raised in gooseflesh. Shivers.

Limbs tangle, white, olive and tawny; heads bob and shift against the white sheets — one dark, with almost-curls, one dark blond and hard with gel; one cropped to the scalp and soft like down. Hands large and square, long and bony, slender and manicured, slide over furred legs, tangle through coarse or soft pubic hair, trace ghost patterns on muscled or wiry or soft-bellied or taut or tattooed skin.

In this bed, this large bed, three bodies intertwine to the accompaniment of guttural grunts and sharp intakes of breath. There are no words here; mouths wide or toothy or sensual are too busy kissing and sucking and biting at whatever bits of body come within reach. Outside this room are harsh words, and anger, and distrust and sometimes painful silence. But here, in this bed, their truce is accomplished through touch, and trust, and sensation.

Ben wonders sometimes how he has come to this place, this bed; his life, though in some ways out of the ordinary, has been to this point one of self-denial and rigid control. But in this bed there is no room for control. The hands, the mouths, the cocks of his partners deny him nothing, and in return they demand he yield control. These two here with him do not hold back themselves, and they will not allow such behavior in him.

Even now, the long, tapered fingers of Ray — his first Ray, his dark Ray, his knowing, sarcastic, loyal Ray, trail up Ben's inner thigh and warmly clasp his genitals. Ben arches back, a wordless groan bursting from his mouth. But the sound is captured by another's mouth – Ray, his second Ray, his tawny Ray, he of the nervous energy and broken heart. The clever, ever-moving mouth sucks Ben's words from him, pulls them unspoken from between his lips.

Ben feels safe in this bed, and he feels loved; his Rays will support him, help him, carry him through, even as they urge him higher and higher. His dark Ray's lips have replaced his fingers — it is almost too much to bear when a tongue slides between Ben's balls and up the length of his cock. "Ray—" he starts to say, but fingers, mouths silence him.

"Shhh." His other Ray…or perhaps not; sometimes, in this bed, it's hard to tell, though each has his particular way about him. They are individuals, Ben knows, of different minds and clashing personalities, but Ben also knows they have the same heart, and the same needs. They need him; they need each other, too, though neither will admit it.

Ray's mouth slides off his own, and he feels bereft. Four hands shift him to his side, and now _someone's_ tongue strokes a long stripe down his back from his neck to the cleft of his buttocks. Another mouth takes his cock inside — the hot pressure drives Ben closer, ever closer to release, but the other two will not let him finish. Strange, how well they work together in this bed, when outside it they cannot share an office without rancor.

Someone pulls his cheeks apart – oh _Lord!_ There is another tongue on him, _in_ him, dear God, Ray, or Ray, penetrates him with his tongue and Ben writhes uncontrollably. Two hands steady him. The mouth on his cock slides up to circle the head entirely, the tongue stiffening to probe the orifice there, while the other pierces him behind.

"God—Ray—Ray—I'm going to—"

"Not yet," says a voice behind him, a voice gravelly with desire, and

"Not yet," says one before him, smug and amused.

Ben knows which one is which, really he does, which is Ray and which is Ray, but right now he doesn't care, because the mouth is back on his cock and the tongue behind him has changed to a long slick finger. He tries to move his hips but the hands hold him in place.

"Please, please, _Ray,_ " Ben gasps.

And then no more words as his upper leg is pushed forward, and the blunt head of one Ray's cock presses inside, slowly, sweetly, filling him. And now the mouth is off his cock, and the bed shifts, and another cock, the other Ray's cock, is pressing inside his mouth, so he opens wide and takes it in, takes it all.

A hand — someone's — strokes him, moving in concert with the thrusting in his ass.  
"God, God," he says again.

"Just us," Ray groans. "Geez Fraser, you're so _tight_ —"

"Christ, Benny," Ray says, his voice broken. "Your mouth is so—"

Ben's eyes are closed. His mouth opens, stretches to accommodate the long cock filling it. His muscles relax as much as possible, to take the thick cock that relentless pounds into him from behind. He is theirs — he gives himself over to sensation, to Ray, and to Ray, and sees lights, and colors, and images — Ray, and Ray, and himself. He pictures what they look like, the three of them, right now, in this bed.

It's too much. With a sigh Ben comes in ropey strings again and again and again.

"Holy fuck, Benny!" The cock in his mouth twitches, and floods him. He swallows over and over again, struggling to cope, until it is pulled away. A mouth replaces it, a tongue licks his own mouth and slides inside. His breath is stolen again with a kiss. These lips are different, sensual in an entirely different way from the one that kissed him before.

The thrusts in his ass grow faster and shallower. Ray thrusts one last time, and comes with a cry before falling across Ben's body.

"Fraser." It is the threadiest of whispers. "Fraser, Fraser." Soft, wet kisses are planted across Ben's face.

He has come undone here; he has given up control to these men, these two who communicate through him, through touch, through trust, through sensation. _If only outside they could—_ Ben starts to think, but drifts. He closes his eyes and rests.

In this bed, three bodies lie intertwined to the accompaniment of soft snores and the deep sighs of sleep. In a short while, too short, they will arise, wash, dress and leave, and there will be dissent and arguments and distrust and perhaps anger. But they will return, Ben knows, because none of them can find elsewhere what they have found here.

In this bed.


End file.
